Seemingly Useless Superpower: Absorbs Bad Luck
by skullcandy11
Summary: Suck at summaries and genres. Charles, aka Lucky Charm aka Charluck believes himself to be a superhero in a world of superheroes. The only difference? Charluck saves the superheroes! The only problem? Charluck can't control who he gives good luck to. All a person has to do is be near him. (You decide if he is a superhero or crazy) (Not what you think) Cross posted on AO3


Seemingly Useless Superpower: Absorbs Bad Luck

Please be nice. This is my first ever fanfiction. I had a Brit Lit assignment due today that said I had to write a story of indeterminate length about a superhero with a useless power that still manages to save the world. I googled useless superpowers, and "absorbs bad luck" was the first thing that popped up on google images.

**Warning for implied and later stated suicide.**

Everyone was a superhero these days, it seemed. There are guys who can shoot with a bow and arrow and never miss, there was a guy in Britain rumored to be the Master of Death, there was Spiderman, Superman, Iron Man, Batman, and every other type of -Man around, and they all had amazing abilities the rest of the populace could only dream of! There were even whispers in the superhero, as well as the super villain community, of a school rumored to be hidden in the clouds! A school where children of super parents could learn their tradecraft. A school called Sky High. It was neutral ground, that was agreed upon by all the parents the rumors said. It was said that the children learned to control their abilities in a relatively peaceful environment, it even fostered goodwill between children of well-known enemies! But I digress. I truly am sorry, I tend to bask in the awesomeness of superheroes. they are simply amazing!

Charles was reminiscing about all of his friends that he had helped as he hiked on towards somewhere, he didn't know where yet. Oh well, he would figure it out soon enough. Maybe his bestest friends would come find him and help him! Really all he wanted was some food. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. Maybe he could call up Iron Man, he was at a banquet right now, after all…No, no! He wouldn't do that! Charles continued on walking, and when he became too exhausted, he sat down on the side of the road to sleep for a little while, after checking to make sure no one was nearby. He was a superhero after all! It wouldn't do to fall asleep next to some wayward criminal. Oh no! He couldn't allow his super power to fall into the hands of someone with nefarious intentions. Thankfully, no one was around, so he should be safe for at least a few hours.

Charles' eyes began to flutter open. He was bleary eyed and he could have sworn he remember falling asleep behind a restaurant. But if that were true, then why would he be looking at a white ceiling? Wait. White ceiling. Hospital! Oh no, he was in a hospital! This can't be good. Who knows who else is on this floor. Oh dear. If this was the floor for criminals who needed medical treatment…He had to get out of here! Charles sat up quickly but had to lay back down almost immediately for he was so dizzy. Machines near him were beeping, he had to get out of here, if there was even one bad person on this floor—no, no, he wouldn't let himself think like that. Remain calm, get out as quickly as possible, maybe you haven't been here long enough for your superpower to kick in yet. Yeah, maybe he was worrying for nothing!

Then a nurse came in, greeting him, but a police officer also came in. Oh, he hoped he wasn't in trouble again. The whole reason he was even mission-less again was because he had tried to apologize to Iron Man while he was heading into the Stark Tower. First Italy, now his Malibu home?! He tried to tell his best friend that he shouldn't be going to other countries, he couldn't help him there! But, Iron Man's billionaire persona only glanced at him questioningly before the man's secretary guided him away from Iron Man, into an alley, and then proceeded to attempt to "convince" him to tell her everything he knew about Tony Stark. He didn't really like the red-headed woman, but he trusted those that Iron Man trusted, so he told her everything. How he was a superhero, and he was protecting any superheroes he came across in his travels across the U.S. He explained how he had helped Thor in New Mexico, and even stuck around the god's girlfriend for a while after the god left in an attempt to help her, but soon enough he had to leave. He had hung around Malibu for a little while a few years back and left once Stane had been taken care of. He had been in Gotham for a while, he really wanted to help Batman. He had! In fact, Gotham was where he was born, but in the end, there were just too many criminals in Gotham to risk sticking around, though he did return there the most to help whenever he could.

By now the red-headed secretary was looking at him with a guarded look on her face. Her voice suddenly changed to a soft one, rather than the harsh voice she had previously used to question his friendship with Iron Man. She asked him what he believed his superpower to be. He looked at her astonished, wondering why S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have a file on him, but then shrugged, deciding that they trusted him to protect his friends, like he promised himself he would, so why would they need a file on someone they trusted? Charles had pondered for many years how he would explain his power, but eventually decided on the simplest version.

"I absorb bad luck," he said.

The woman blinked, and then blinked again. She asked him what he meant. He was so happy! No one ever really wanted to know. He his closest friends Batman and Iron Man never asked him! He gladly explained how he noticed as he was growing up on the streets of Gotham how whenever he got hurt, then someone else had something good happen to them. That's why he had been sleeping in an alley adjacent to Stark Tower, he explained. Whenever he was near, people around him got good luck. He didn't fully trust the woman yet, so he didn't explain the other part of his superpower. No, she wasn't his friend yet, so he wouldn't tell her. It wasn't like he really mattered, anyway, in the scheme of things.

Then he remembered,"Oh, I almost forgot the most important part!" he exclaimed!

When she asked him what he was talking about, still in that soft voice, weird.

"My name is Lucky Charm! My friends call me Charluck, because it sounds a bit like my real name, and I trust them with it. I was born with the name Charles. Isn't it so cool! I get to be the lucky charm to so many superheroes!"

He was giddy with excitement! Maybe now that she knew everything, Iron Man's secretary would let him actually see the inside of Stark Tower! He wasn't allowed in because he looked homeless and the door guards noticed that he slept against the side of the building. That bothered him a bit, because the closer you were to him, the more good luck you got. He reasoned that that was why Iron Man's Malibu house was in ruins after his birthday party, he wasn't there to balance everything out, like he usually did. He was so captivated with his thoughts of actually being able to see one of his friends again without having to stay in alleys and discreetly follow them most places, that he never even noticed the hand tapping his neck, allowing a powerful sedative to sweep through his body from the tiny needle between her fingers.

This time, when Charluck woke up, he realized he was in a hospital again. Though this one seemed more gray than white for some reason. He didn't understand why he had fallen asleep, or even when! He remembered escaping another police officer, and therefore the hospital he had been in when the man wouldn't stop questioning him when he had been found passed out next to a dumpster behind a restaurant. He had learned that the restaurant had called the police on him when it was the third night in a row that he had slept back there. When he wouldn't wake up he was taken to the hospital. Soon enough, though, the cop moved on to a different topic. A far more sensitive topic. He wanted to know why he had been switching between sleeping next to the dumpsters, and sleeping against the outside west wall of Stark towers. That was when he had pretended to feel ill again. When the policeman went to go get a nurse, he snuck out of his room and slipped out a side exit, and back into Manhattan. He immediately went to Stark Tower, because he had heard about Italy three days before he was admitted, the day the door guards came over to him to "convince" him that he should find a new spot to sleep. That had hurt, but on the upside, someone would be getting some good luck soon! That made him happy. He was overjoyed when he saw Iron Man, he rushed over to talk to him, and that was when he had talked to the red-headed secretary. As everything slowly came back to him, he realized he had been drugged! Iron Man's secretary had drugged him! What the heck?! He absentmindedly began to sit up, when he was jerked back to reality. He couldn't move! That was when his sense of touch decided to come back to him fully, and he felt straps across his chest, legs, arms, wrists, and even his head!

A moment after he started to process this information, he heard something that sounded like metal sliding against metal. He tried to move to see what was happening, but he couldn't. Then a face came into his line a vision, a face connected to a neck, connected to a chest. A chest clothed in a doctor's coat. What was happening? The man then decided to speak.

"I'm glad you are awake! Everything seems to be in order, and the sedative will wear off fully in another couple of hours, but you are able to move, so we are going to move you to your cell now."

"What do you mean my cell? Where am I? What happened?" Charluck cried angrily.

"Simply put, Mr. Stark is a very powerful man, with very powerful friends. It has been determined that you are a possible danger to Mr. Stark due to your recently determined sick infatuation with the man, and because of this, some of his friends have decided to stick you someplace where you will never be able to see him again. For his safety, of course. You are currently the newest resident of Cell Block 8, where the worst of the worst are housed in isolation, in Arkham. Gotham's asylum for the criminally insane."

Two days. It had only taken two days in isolation with his cell next to the one belonging to the only other being housed in this cell block. Two days for his super power to become a super weapon. The Joker had been housed in the cell next to his for three years now, and because of his misplaced trust in his friend's friends, he had singlehandedly allowed the sick and twisted mind of the Joker back onto the streets of Gotham. Charluck was so angry with himself. No, he didn't deserve to be called Charluck, he didn't deserve to be called Lucky Charm. He barely even deserved the name Charles. Two days in cell block eight visited very frequently by a very disturbed doctor with some type of gas that created living nightmares.

He was so angry with himself for allowing himself to be hurt by this doctor because Charles knew what would happen. It was how his super power worked. And work it did. During these moments, he despised himself, no, he despised how his power worked. He was fully willing to stay near superheroes and lend them his powers. Oh yes, he was fine with that! It didn't bother him that his power was a give-take relationship because he would rather be hurt than allow the other superheroes to be hurt. He discovered that, whenever those near him got lucky in some way, he got hurt. That was how the world worked! It is a system of checks and balances. He was used to it by now, he was even glad when he got hurt because that meant some good luck had just been bequeathed upon a worthy individual who used his abilities for good. But sometimes, sometimes the good luck hadn't happened yet. The universe must truly want him to be a balanced individual because sometimes he got hurt first. Sometimes, many times, actually, he would be punched, stabbed, shot, starved, burned, or otherwise beaten. His body was a riddle of scars, but he could name each scar. Yes, he could! Each scar had a name, and that name attributed to someone who received a bit of luck in their otherwise seemingly unlucky life. Yes, until now, he was proud of his scars! But now? Now he despised every new scar delivered to his form but the manic "doctor" because he knows no one had received any luck before now. So that meant whoever he could hear banging against the walls in the cell next to him would be receiving some luck very soon. And with the consistency of his "meetings" with the "good doctor", this person would be very lucky for a good little bit. The only comfort Charles Potts had, was his knowledge of checks and balances. His knowledge, that, just like with everyone, the Joker's luck would one day run out. And Charles was going to make sure he wasn't going to be around to unwittingly aid the Joker, or any villain, anymore.

Tony Stark was tired. He had successfully bested Ivan Vanko, as well as his backer Justin Hammer. Now the villains that needed to be behind bars were behind bars, and he could relax again. Hopefully, he could actually get a full night's rest for two days in a row. Hopefully. Of course, his hopes were dashed as he watched his girlfriend, Pepper Potts stare at a blank screen with a piece of paper in her hands. She had obviously been crying, and he resolved himself for no sleep for at least four hours by the looks of things. Well, it was a good thing he was in love with the woman!

Pepper was dying inside. Her heart was breaking. Tearing itself to shreds. All because of one measly slip of paper. One measly ski of paper that managed to turn her world over on its head. Her father was dead. The last of her true family. The only man she loved as much, possibly more so, than Tony.

She noticed movement out of the corner of her eye, and when she turned a blank stare on Tony, she hoped he couldn't see the anguish inside. She didn't want to have to tell him to her father. She wasn't ashamed of him. No! In fact, she was proud of the man who raised her after her mother died. She was so proud of the man that her heart burst with joy whenever she used to think of him. He always made sure that she was safe, even when he wasn't every day. He never let her see him hurting, every day that he raised her. She knew what he did, he explained it to her very simply when she was young and asked where her mom was. He explained to her that he had found her mom one night, really hurt. He took her to the hospital, then to the police, to his apartment because she had nowhere else to go, and then back to the hospital nine months later, where she gave birth to Pepper. Her mom hadn't survived her birth, but her father made sure that she understood it was not his fault. He had explained, back then, that her mom would call him her clumsy superhero, her unlucky lucky charm. He was never able to stay standing for long, he would trip on everything! Sometimes she would play games with the small bruises littering his legs from hitting practically everything! And then, one night, he had gone out with her when they saw a woman being mugged in an alley they were passing. Pepper's father in all but blood rushed in and tackled the would-be-mugger. In the ensuing struggle, the woman got away, but the mugger took the gun he had threatened the woman with and shot her dad in the head. The woman had called 9-1-1, and ambulances were on their way. They took her father into surgery, and when he came back out, he was never the same. The bullet had knocked his head around just so for him to fully immerse himself in the life he led, helping people whenever he saw that they were hurt. Pepper had already interviewed for the job with Tony, and though her father kept in touch with her, she had lost a part of him that night in the alley.

She realized that she was crying now, her head rests against Tony's chest. She couldn't speak just yet, so she gave the letter to Tony for him to read.

 _"My Dearest Pepper,_

 _First off, I have to apologize for these last few years. Sometimes I lose myself inside my head and I can't help but do what I do. My lucid moments are coming less and less, and I fear that I will fully lose myself in who your mother believed me to be. So I am writing this letter while I am still well, though it pains me that you might have to read this, in order to ask of you one last favor._

 _My father, Nicholas Potts, was not a very nice man. I will not go into detail, but you are smart enough to draw conclusions given what you know of me and my insufferable savior complex. I made a vow to myself that I would never become that person that he was (for he does not deserve to be called a man), so whenever I saw someone in distress, I would rush in to help. Your mother always smiled a little smile when I would remark upon the fact that every single person I ever helped survived. She also never questioned me when I would bring someone home to care for a time like I did to her. I very much wonder, sometimes, at the little quirks she had, that, in today's world, would be a sign for her being destined for great things._

 _When you were born, she made me promise to care for our children, and I vowed that I would. You may be asking, "children?", and I assure you, I have not been hiding you from a family all these years (yes, I know how your mind works my child). The truth is that every person who I helped, who I still help today, and who I have done my best to help until my very end, and considered my children just as much as you are. I raised you as my daughter, but I always keep tabs on anyone who I encountered in my nightly dealings._

 _Therefore, I wish to ask you to go to our home and retrieve all of my little black books, so far I have five of them. I have divided all of my money equally into three accounts. One is for you, my sweet child. Do with it what you will, I trust you. Always have, always will._

 _The second account I wish for you to donate to the boy's home in Gotham funded by Bruce Wayne. So many of those children were like me back then, and I wish to ease their suffering in any way I can._

 _Lastly, in the third account, I wish for you to please equally divide the money between every name listed in my little black books who isn't a known superhero. Each shall receive a decent sum, so do not worry at the sheer size of names. If they ask who the money is from, you can tell them it is from Lucky Charm, or Charluck, all will recognize me by either name._

 _My dear, sweet Pepper, I love you so much and I am so sorry for all that I have put you through these past few years. Please forgive me, and grant this old man one last wish._

 _I love you,_

 _Charles Potts_

When Tony finished reading the letter, he put it down and hugged his girlfriend even tighter. He knew that she had been adopted, but her records had been sealed so tight even he would have a hard time opening them. It wouldn't be impossible, but given how high up he would have to go, he had decided to honor the woman's privacy. She had calmed down a bit by now, so he hoped she might be able to answer some of his questions.

"Pepper," he asked, "who exactly _was_ you father, does he really have so much money that he could do that, and what exactly did he _do_ for a living?"

Pepper sighed, and the spent the rest of the night explaining her whole life to Tony, who her father was, and ending her life's story simply with, "He was a superhero."

When Pepper finally gathered the courage to go to her fath—no, her apartment, she sighed at the unused look of the place. She knew it was highly unlikely that he would come back and lived here, when in his mind, he could be out helping people. No, the only reason for him to even come back here would be to add to his most recent little book.

She went to the six little, unassuming book lined up on the desk, perched against the wall. She sighed, and opened the most recent journal, finding it about a quarter full.

 _"Molly Price (17)— attempted rape by one Cane Price in the alley behind the restaurant where he had spiked her drink. He stabbed me in my lower stomach with the knife he used to subdue the girl. In jail. Officially, Molly was a problem child who ran away after reporting to the attempted rape, as well as multiple instances of abuse. Unofficially, she is with her mother's parents in Canada. Status: safe"_

 _"Artur Wright (8)— starving. I was beaten up by a gang earlier that day behind one of my usual restaurants. After he decided that I would live, and I showed him which dumpster had the freshest food at the moment, I was able to take him to The Wayne Foundation's Home for Boys. Status: safe, but requires further monitoring for a period of five years."_

It went on and on. Every time he had helped a man, woman, child, or superhero was documented with a brief account of what happened, what happened to him that made it so that the checks and balances were in order, what happened to any offenders, and the status of the person he had saved. His first black book began with Pepper's own mother, when he had discovered her in an alley. Her mother's attacker will never be able to get out of prison. Her father made sure of that. There were hundreds of names, not even including the superheroes, and her father was going to protect them, his children, even in death. She was so proud of him.

The news spread quickly across the country, that Lucky Charm, Charluck to all, because if you knew of the first moniker, then you were considered a friend and friends were gifted with the use of the second moniker. From the East coast to the West coast, New York, to Malibu, to New Mexico, and many in between, hundreds mourned the passing of the savior of each person's own world, respectively. Charles Potter had killed himself with a pen he had stolen from one of his doctors. He wrote on the only parchment he had, his skin, his last message. He refused to aid one more bad person in this world, so he finished his checks and balances system once and for all. He—lucky to be free, once and for all, of the danger he could unknowingly give someone evil. His enemies—unlucky that that little bit of luck they gained, only ever from being in the presence of the superheroes, never resurfaced again.


End file.
